


As Much As I Ever Could

by Blessedindeed, dirtymudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Pansy and Ginny are good friends, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blessedindeed/pseuds/Blessedindeed, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymudblood/pseuds/dirtymudblood
Summary: Draco Malfoy is in love with a Muggleborn.No, not that Muggleborn.Well… maybe.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 83
Kudos: 665
Collections: Best of DMHG, Box of Chocolates





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Box_of_Chocolates](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Box_of_Chocolates) collection. 



> If you don't remember, I happened to be paired with bookloverdream for the Deck the Halls with Dramione event. I think it's fate that we happened to get each other again, it could only mean that we're soulmates. Right? 
> 
> Angie, you are a talented blessing in my life. Thank you so much for letting me create words for your beautiful art (that you will all see in chapter 3!)
> 
> Also special thanks to LadyKenz and kyonomiko for getting this fest together!

“I’m in love.”

“Mm.” Hermione shuffled a few papers on her desk. Where were those reports?

Draco sighed dramatically. “Really, Granger.” 

“No, no, I’m listening-- pass me those papers please, yes, no, those, yes-- you’re in love.”

She really had no time for this. While she usually didn’t mind Malfoy’s occasional visit to her office, she was due to a meeting that she was presenting for in just under 20 minutes. 

“This is a very serious matter and I wish you would treat it as such,” he pressed two fingers atop her stack of envelopes to hold them in place, “this is my future bride we’re considering here. The next Mrs. Malfoy. The woman who will carry my seed--”

“ _ Please,”  _ Hermione groaned, her mouth puckering at the vile picture he was starting to form. “Spare me.”

She sighed and leaned back against her chair, folding her arms in front of her. “You have ten minutes, starting now.” 

He matched her position, taking his hand from her desk and giving her a smug, pleased look. “ _ Thank you.  _ As I was saying, I’ve found a potential wife.” 

“Hm. And does she know she’s been decided as the future Malfoy matriarch?”

“Well, not exactly. We’ve haven’t actually spoken much--”

“Ah, so it’s going well then?”

“I’m serious, Granger,” he practically growled and Hermione’s eyebrows raised at his  _ genuinely  _ serious tone. It was not one Malfoy often used. Sarcastic, smug, even sometimes playful. But never serious. 

“Sorry,” she deflated. “I’m sorry. Tell me about her then?”

Hermione’s eyes flickered sideways to check the tiny clock on her desk. Perfect, she still had some time for Malfoy to exhaust his monologue and make it to the meeting on time. 

“... and she’s funny. Well, I think she’s funny. She’s either told a very funny joke or she made quite an offensive statement…”

Hermione wondered if she should change her shoes before the meeting. Did navy blue and black clash? 

“... plus I don’t  _ mind  _ arithmancy, it’s not my favorite of course, but she…”

Maybe she should put her hair up. That was professional. Hair up? Hair down. 

“What did you say her name was?” Hermione cut in. 

Malfoy sighed, obviously perturbed that she had not been listening intently enough. “ _ Olivia.  _ Olivia Johanson.”

Hermione blinked, her neck recoiling back in shock. “Fourth floor Olivia Johanson?”

“The one.”

“Blonde, tiny? Has that weird tooth in the front, Olivia Johanson?”

“Watch what you say about my bride, Granger,” he grumbled, wiggling a finger in her direction. “You should be the last to talk about unfortunate teeth.”

Hermione subconsciously licked her top row of teeth to ensure they were still all perfectly straight. And then another thought occurred to her. “ _ Muggleborn  _ Olivia Johanson?”

Malfoy threw his hands up, his face the picture of relief. “Welcome to the conversation, Granger.”

She ignored him. “You want to make a Muggleborn the next Mrs. Malfoy?”   
“I do.”

“And you don’t think your father will return from hell if you do?”

“Cheeky.”

Hermione leaned forward, her hands braced in front of her. “Seriously Malfoy, you think you’ll get a  _ Muggleborn  _ to marry you?”

His face fell and Hermione suddenly felt terribly guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“No, no,” he sighed, “you’re right. It’s actually why I came to see you.”

Her eyes flickered to the clock. 4 minutes left. 

“Okay,” she began apprehensively. There was no idea of Malfoy’s that involved her that didn’t end with them in one compromising position or another. 

He sighed, leaning forward and resting his hands on her desk. 

“I need you to date me--”

“ _ What--” _

“Not forever! For a few weeks--  _ maybe  _ a few weeks--”

“Are you  _ insane--” _

“--we’ll go out in public a few times, I’ll take you to the ministry ball--”

“You  _ are  _ insane--”

“--she’ll see how  _ new  _ and  _ reformed  _ I am. Then I’ll ask her for the last dance at the ball, she looks into my beautiful, seductive eyes and you become Auntie ‘Mione to our children.”

Hermione pressed her fingers to her eyes, calming the impending migraine that was thrumming through her head already. “ _ Malfoy.” _

“Give me three reasons you can’t do this for me and if I can’t argue with them, I’ll leave you alone.”

She dropped her hand, giving him a sheepish look. His face was already set, a look that she saw all too often as he presented cases in front of the Wizengamot. Looking for weak spots. 

“What if I already have a date for the ball?”

He blinked once. Then twice. “I don’t… I don’t think you know how  _ hard  _ I’m attempting not to laugh at the moment.”

Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms indignantly. “I could get a date!”

“You  _ did  _ get one, Granger. I just asked you. Next argument.”

She sucked her teeth in thought. “No one would believe it.”

“Untrue,” he countered confidently. “Everyone already thinks we’re in the midst of a secret love affair.”

“ _ Who?” _

“Pansy, for one. Ever since she found your knickers in my flat--”

Hermione gasped. “In your  _ guest room!  _ I already explained to her I must have forgotten them when I stayed over for New Years.”   
Draco hummed. “A convenient story.  _ Or  _ the building blocks to make this  _ believable _ .” 

She licked her lips, her mind racing for a good argument. A solid, impenetrable argument even for Malfoy. 

“What about… That I don’t want to?”

His face cracked then. The hard lines of his concentrated face flattening into a blank look and his gaze falling to his hands on her desk. She knew that look, too. This she didn’t see as often. Defeat. 

“I… suppose that is a valid argument, isn’t it?”

His hands slipped from the desk and fell into his lap. He stood, straightening his tie and buttoning his jacket in some semblance of self preservation and Hermione felt her heart drop.  _ God,  _ he looked pathetic. It punctured her already bleeding heart. 

“Malfoy,” she sighed, her eyes closing as she heard his footsteps stop at the door. “Wait. I… okay. I’ll…  _ fine.” _

“Really?” 

She blinked her eyes open. He was like a puppy. A manipulative, needy, spoiled,  _ adorable  _ puppy. Especially looking at her with those big, bottomless grey eyes that could convince her to commit treason. 

_ Screw him,  _ Hermione thought,  _ screw him and his long eyelashes and his full lips and his broad shoulders and-- _

“Yes,” she answered through gritted teeth, shaking her thoughts from her head. “I will date you--  _ fake  _ date you. Until the ball.” 

In moments he was across the room, planting a warm, slightly sloppy kiss to her cheek. 

“ _ Granger,  _ you absolute angel.”

She grumbled, her hands twitching to slap his face away.

“We should start right away. I’ll take you to Mose’s tonight for dinner. How does that sound,  _ darling?” _

Something coiled in the depths of her stomach at the sound of his voice curling around the endearment. His tongue peeking out just slightly at the consonant  _ L…  _ She swallowed and nodded, willing him to leave her to reflect on her stupid decision in peace. 

When the door finally shut and signified his departure, she buried her head in her hands and heaved a sigh. 

Harry was going to kill her. God,  _ Ginny  _ would bring her back from the dead only to kill her again. She had already swore up and down that she and Malfoy were  _ not  _ dating.  _ Not  _ involved in any way, thank you very much. 

Not that their weekly standing dinners and various trips to museums and wineries and excessive sleepovers when each were too tired to apparate themselves home were much help in her argument. 

It was easy to explain away. Neither of their sets of friends had any interest in history or art. The reason they would often find themselves exhausted was hours of passionate debates that led them to fall asleep in each other’s guest rooms. Hardly  _ romantic.  _

Not that Hermione knew what  _ romance  _ was. Not between Viktor or Ron or Cormac and their various shortcomings. 

She imagined it was like Dance in the Country, a painting they had seen in Paris’  Musée d'Orsay. A couple, so different from each other, yet intertwined and  _ joyous  _ in their love. A spontaneous dance to a familiar song, immersed in their own world. She had stared at it until Malfoy ripped her away. 

She picked her head up.  _ Shit,  _ she was late for her meeting. 

* * *

“You’re going  _ where?” _

Hermione groaned, brushing past a very pregnant Ginny and beelining for her friend’s closet. She had apparated there right after work, taking an extra few minutes to compose herself and her story before knocking. 

“A  _ date,  _ Gin. With Malfoy.” 

“You’re  _ kidding.”  _ Ginny waddled as quickly behind her as her protruding belly allowed. 

Hermione quickly flipped through her dresses. Too much sparkle, too little fabric,  _ who in Gods name would wear this-- _

“Do you have anything… not this?” Hermione groaned. 

Ginny huffed, crossing her arms over her stomach. “Don’t you have your own?”

“My grey dress is being dry cleaned and I’ve nothing else that would be appropriate for Mose’s.”

“Good, leave it there. You’ve worn it one too many times and if I see another picture of you in the prophet wearing it, I’ll set it on fire with you in it.”

“I  _ like  _ that dress,” Hermione shrieked, rummaging through the back of Ginny’s closet. “It’s modest and sensible and--”

“ _ Boring.  _ Merlin, it’s so  _ boring.  _ It feels like I’m going to a funeral whenever I see you in it. Probably because you wore it to Aunt Muriel's funeral.”

“Aha!” Hermione fished out a beige sweater dress, one that Ginny had bought begrudgingly with a high neckline and pockets. 

“Back to the  _ real  _ topic at hand… a  _ date.  _ A  _ Malfoy  _ date.”

“Yes,” she sighed, holding the dress up to her figure. “Too much?”

“Not enough. You have a lovely backside, you know. You could afford to show it off a little.” 

“Ginny.”

“Alright. Alright. I suppose Malfoy has seen you in less flattering.”

_ “Ginny.” _

“Whatever. I know he’s probably waiting for you,” Ginny batter her eyelashes dramatically. “You lucky woman. You can use our floo.  _ But,  _ I expect a full 18 inch parchment on how this came to be, what happens at dinner, what happens  _ after  _ dinner. Please spare no detail.” 

* * *

Malfoy was always early. Annoyingly early. If you were on time he’d treat it as if you were late, early. He was already tapping his foot impatiently, pushing up the sleeve of his suit jacket to scowl at his watch.

“I know, I know,” Hermione sighed, folding her napkin in her lap in a way of greeting. 

“I already ordered,” he grunted, smoothing his jacket back over his watch. “I figured you’d show up at some point.”

“What am I having?” She helped herself to the chilled wine on the table.

“Smoked salmon and mushroom risotto.”

Hermione frowned. “I  _ hate  _ mushrooms.”

“No, you don’t.” There was no inflection in his tone.

“I most certainly  _ do,”  _ she scoffed. “I think I’d know what fungi I dislike.”

“And I’m telling you... you don’t.”

“Malfoy--”

“You’re ridiculous-- sir!” Hermione began to flag down who she assumed was their waiter, her empty stomach contributing to the creeping foul mood that Malfoy was egging on. 

“Granger,” He interrupted. “It’s probably already on its way out, anyway. I’ll tell you what,” his face slowly morphed into a wolfish grin. “If you hate your food, not only will I give up my  _ expensive _ steak and potatoes to you,  _ but  _ I’ll let you borrow that first edition Hogwarts a History from the Manor’s collection.” 

Hermione paused, her hand still raised slightly. She had been itching for it since Malfoy had casually let slip that his family had acquired it some time ago. She had begged,  _ pleaded  _ for him to show her. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And on the off chance I  _ do,  _ what is it that I’d be wagering?” 

“Hm,” Draco sucked on his cheek, narrowing his own eyes. “You’ll owe me. Anything I choose. Within reason of course.”

Hermione sighed, watching the waiter pass through the maze of tables with their food. On one hand, she hated the open endedness of his bargain. Knowing Malfoy, it would end with her in jail or  _ worse.  _ On the other…  _ first edition.  _

“Fine. But I get to decide what constitutes as reasonable.” 

He hummed triumphantly. “You’ve got yourself a deal there, Granger.”

The waiter set their plates down in front of them politely and they stared at each other as he departed from the table. Hermione made no move to try her meal.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Malfoy leant forward in his seat, using his fork to scoop a small amount of rice and mushroom onto it before offering it to her closed lips. “Open.” 

Tentatively she parted her lips, letting him deposit the food into her open mouth and slowly remove the fork. With a small blush, Hermione thought that perhaps to any onlookers this would be quite the intimate act. A sweet caricature of romance. 

And the worst part, it was  _ good.  _ Creamy and rich. The chunks of mushrooms, which Hermione believed to be fleshy and gross, were a salty, umami flavor. She chewed slowly, unwilling to show the true pleasure on her face. But he broke into a slow, crooked grin anyway. 

“That’s what I thought. You  _ love  _ mushrooms, silly witch.”

Hermione scoffed, licking her lips subconsciously to savor the taste clinging to her lip. “I don’t know what you mean, Malfoy. It was awful, just as I expected. And now  _ you  _ owe me a book.”

He tutted, using the same fork that had just been in her mouth to bring a piece of steak to his. “Did you know when you like the taste of something your eyebrows twitch? And then immediately after, you lick your lips?” 

Hermione paused, knowing she had been caught. Defeated, her shoulders slumped forward and she rose her own fork in surrender. “I don’t know if I enjoy that you know that about me.”

“Granger, there are things I know about you that even  _ you  _ don’t know about you. Now, eat.”

* * *

Hermione pulled the sleeves of her modest dress around her, shielding herself from the chill as they stepped outside the restaurant. 

“I wish you would let me pay, just once. Or at least split it with you.”

“I can afford it,” he shrugged. “It’s poor manners to expect you to pay.”

“I’m not  _ poor,”  _ she gasped indignantly. “I can afford it just as much as you.”   
“Poorer than  _ me.  _ Besides it has nothing to do with your finances, I meant because you’re a woman.”

“That’s even  _ worse!”  _

Draco shrugged, opening his mouth to retort when a soft voice interrupted him. 

“Draco? Hi!”

Olivia Johanson was the type of woman that if you were to ask your significant other, “is she prettier than me?” and they answered “no”, you’d know they were lying. She was. And she knew it.

Dainty and tiny, untouched blonde hair that fell just  _ perfectly,  _ small lips to compliment her button nose. And between her and Malfoy, it was hard to tell who was paler. Hermione snickered internally at the thought of their translucent children. 

Until Malfoy’s face went bright, as if he had seen the sun for the first time or a lake after months of a drought. And for no reason at all, Hermione felt her meal settle into a pit at the bottom of her stomach. 

“Olivia, what are the odds?”

Ah. Of course. This was no casual plans for dinner or a thank you to Hermione for delaying her dignity for him. She could tell in the victorious curl of his upper lip, something he did when a case was going his way. 

“And who is this?” 

Olivia’s eyes flickered down from Hermione’s head, to her feet, then back up quickly. A simple, subconscious movement that was undoubtedly female in its judgement. Even worse, it made Hermione feel positively _plain_ in her long sleeve, beige dress that flowed instead of clung to her curves. 

She tucked her arms more protectively around her as Draco slid up next to her, casually tucking her under his arm. 

“Olivia, this is Hermione Granger, my girlfriend.”

Hermione felt a small, patriarchal pleasure at the way the other girls eyebrows rose, her pretty lips forming a tiny ‘o’ and her eyes flashing in recognition. Hermione buried herself further into his chest, relaxing into him as a lover would do. She felt him tap on her elbow lightly in approval.

“I had no idea you were a taken man, Draco,” she teased, completely ignoring Hermione’s presence. “I suppose I’ll have to watch what I say around you now.”

In equal parts Hermione wanted to curl up into a ball and die, and lash out at the woman in front of her. Hermione made it a point in life to follow female solidarity. But perhaps not  _ this  _ one. “Yes,” Malfoy’s arm tightened around her, “It’s still quite new, we wanted to have some time to ourselves first before we told everyone.”

“Oh? How long have you been together?”

“A few months--”

“Two weeks--”   
Hermione blinked up at Draco, who sputtered briefly, “We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now, but it’s only become official two weeks ago.”

Olivia didn’t seem to notice the slip up. “How wonderful. I suppose I’ll be seeing you two at the Ministry’s Valentine’s ball later this month then! It was lovely to see you, but I’m afraid my party is waiting for me.” 

She left then, with an additional swing to her hips. Hermione watched Draco’s head swivel to watch as she passed, then gave a quote, unquote accidental shove to his side. 

_ “Oof--”  _ he unslung his arm from her shoulders and clutched his ribs. “Merlin,  _ witch.  _ A little warning next time yeah?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn’t even know  _ why  _ she was so bothered, this was  _ good.  _ She was accomplishing exactly what Malfoy had asked her to. 

Though even if the relationship  _ was  _ fake, Olivia didn’t know that. And yet, she had so pointedly flirted with who she  _ thought  _ was a taken man, in  _ front  _ of said woman. Which is why Hermione felt the bile in her throat and the pressure in her head and the buzzing in her ear.

It had  _ absolutely _ nothing to do with the hearts in Draco’s eyes when he looked at her or the way that Hermione seemed to become expendable when she was around. It was  _ definitely  _ not the fact that Hermione felt inferior to Olivia’s conventionally perfect features and the way Malfoy looked at her. 

Why would she care? 


	2. Chapter 2

“So… Malfoy.” 

Hermione blinked, her mug halfway to her mouth. Ginny was giving her a scrutinizing look that had little to do with the display of caffeine that her pregnant self was unable to have. 

“Yes.”

They had officially  _ unofficially  _ been dating for a week and a half now. And dating Malfoy was every bit exhausting as Hermione always expected it to be.

He was  _ clingy _ . If he wasn’t taking her out to dinner, he was inviting himself over to her flat to take advantage of her fully stocked fridge, a habit she had acquired from her brief involvement with Ron.

But Hermione valued her alone time. A habit she had acquired from her  _ not  _ brief stint with Cormac, who had made himself entirely too comfortable sharing her space. The last straw was when he had refused to return to his apartment for clean clothes and had opted to use  _ her  _ underwear instead. After that, Hermione believe in the importance of personal space.

But with Malfoy… as much as she wanted him to leave, she wanted him to stay. He almost did, once. They had fallen asleep on the couch towards the end of a movie (something Malfoy loved about the muggle world) with her head resting against his shoulder. 

He had actually fallen asleep first, little wispy puffs of air and slumped shoulders. And for some reason, Hermione made a conscious effort to stay still and quiet, hoping to not rouse him. And she fell asleep that way too.

It was still dark when she had woken up. The telly was stuck on a blue screen, the movie long over, and a blanket was thrown over Hermione’s body. He was gone. And she had an awful kink in her neck for the rest of the day.

The dinners she could understand. Public displays of their new romance to convince Olivia that there really  _ was  _ something there, if the pictures in the Prophet had anything to say about it. The past two weeks she had graced the cover more than ever before and she  _ hated  _ the effort she now had to put into making sure she never had a double chin. 

Pictures of them dining at lavish restaurants, laughing at each other’s jokes, lightly grazing fingers (which was completely for the pictures benefit, thank you very much). If she were Olivia, she would be entirely convinced. 

What she  _ couldn’t  _ understand was the excessive time  _ alone.  _ There were no reporters in her flat. No opportunity for Olivia to see them out. And yet, here he was almost every other night. 

It was because they were  _ friends _ , Hermione decided. Friends were allowed to spend time alone together. Friends cooked dinner together, wiping flour on each other’s noses and helping pick egg shells out of her hair. Friends watched movies until late in the evening, pressed up against one another on her small couch. Didnt they?

Even though it was odd, she was worried that if she called any attention to it; he would stop coming all together. 

Up until now, she had completely avoided any interaction with Ginny. She  _ knew  _ if anyone were to sniff out their lie, it would be here. Between a multitude of brothers and her penchant for troublemaking (and thus, talking herself out of consequences), Ginny was a lying connoisseur. 

But Ginny had off on Fridays. Knew Hermione would have off the day before the Ministry ball. And somehow had weaseled (no pun intended) her way into Hermione's flat with fresh donuts and coffee, something Hermione couldn’t resist. 

“And how long has this been going on?”

“A while.” Hermione set down her coffee, folding her hands together so she wouldn’t pick at her fingers nervously. 

“Hm,” Ginny narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing Hermione’s form. For a moment, a lump formed in her throat. Did Ginny know? Until her friend sighed, picking up another donut from the box. “Well I can’t say I’m surprised. I only wish you told me sooner. I know we’re not  _ actually  _ sisters, but I like to think of each other as such. Kind of rude I wouldn’t be one of the first to know.”

“What?” Hermione blinked, her eyes furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Well usually when something important happens— _ life changing—“ _

“No, no,” Hermione waved her hands in dismissal. “You’re not surprised?”

Ginny snorted and bit into her donut, a tiny bit of frosting catching on her lip before she licked it away. “ _ Please.  _ We’ve had betting pools for  _ years  _ over when one of you would finally fess up and confess your feelings—“

“ _ What—“ _

_ “ _ I think this year was actually the first we didn’t put any money down,” Ginny hummed in thought. “We had finally given up, funny how that works. At least I didn’t lose to that bint Pansy Parkinson.”

Hermione shook her head. “You’re lying.” 

“Swear to the fucking Gods. You two were the only ones out of the loop. We thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Figure out  _ what?” _

“That you love each other,” Ginny took another bite of her donut, chewing through her words. “Duh.”

Hermione paused. “I’m not… we’re  _ not…” _

“Yes, yes, sure. You’re not in love. You just cling to each other obsessively and share all your free time together and have everything in common, not in  _ love.” _

Hermione’s groaned, her temples throbbing. She closed her eyes, rubbing her head and tried to ignore the redhead in front of her. 

“Not to mention the puppy dog eyes Malfoy follows you around with. God it makes me  _ sick. Bleh.” _

Hermione’s hands paused on her head and her eyes snapped open. “He doesn’t… look at me like that.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, braced herself on the table, and hoisted herself up. She began to waddle out of the kitchen, “where do you keep your old Prophets?” 

She returned, a stack of recent papers in hand. She smacked one down on the table.

“ _ That  _ is the look.”

A picture of them at dinner. Hermione watched the moving photo version of herself throw her head back, laughing at something obviously ridiculous Malfoy had said. He was watching her with his own crooked grin. 

“ _ This  _ is the look.”

She smacked another paper down. They had decided to walk back to her flat that night. She was in front of him, her hands moving wildly as she explained the different types of root grass and their magical properties and why it was  _ so important  _ to know the differences. She wasn’t even looking at him, too caught up in her ramblings. But he was looking at her; his head tilted slightly, his hands in his pocket as he walked.

She had to look away. It would do nothing to let Ginny convince her that what Malfoy felt was anything more than friendly. Because…  _ Olivia.  _

“Maybe,” Hermione said pathetically, pushing the papers away as Ginny readjusted herself in the chair. 

“Anyway, I  _ approve _ of him if that at all matters to you. He makes you happy, so I’m happy.”

He  _ did  _ make her happy. Perhaps in a different way than Harry or Ginny made her happy. Even more different than Ron or Cormac or Viktor made her happy.

“Are you two attending the Valentine’s ball together?” Ginny asked suddenly.

“I—“

“Of course you are, what I mean is: what are you  _ wearing?”  _

“Well I just got my dress back from the cleaners—“

“I’ll kill you.”

“Ginny!”

“Sorry,” she put her hands up in defense. “Pregnant. But  _ seriously,  _ you can’t debut yourself as the future Mrs. Malfoy in that frump of a dress.”

“I have nothing else,” Hermione shrugged, a part of her chest clenching at the thought of the  _ real  _ future Mrs. Malfoy. 

Ginny had a dangerous glint in her eye. “Are you free for the rest of the day?”

* * *

Pansy had acquired her own boutique after the sudden and tragic death of the previous owner. Which she  _ definitely  _ had nothing to do with, by the way. 

It was a tiny shop on the outskirts of Diagonal Alley, the perfect place for glitter and jewels and all things grandeur. Hermione made it a point to stay far away, until today. 

Besides, when had she ever  _ needed  _ to shop for a dress? She had her grey, knee-high, signature frock and it was perfectly acceptable to wear an outfit more than once, no matter what Ginny said. 

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Pansy’s voice, with its slight vocal fry, came from behind the counter. “Hermione Granger?  _ Shopping?” _

“Parkinson,” Ginny greeted, a cheeky smile on her face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re here for  _ you,  _ red. I don’t think I can squeeze that belly into anything here.”

Ginny placed a protective hand over her stomach, but snickered at Pansy’s jest. “Up yours, Pansy. You’re just jealous I’ll  _ always  _ have the better nose, no matter how big I get.” 

Pansy sighed, a wistful look on her face. “And what a lovely nose it is. How can I help you ladies?”

“Hermione here,” Ginny nudged Hermione forward, who stared at Pansy sheepishly. “needs a new dress for the Valentine’s ball. Something not so… Hermione.”

_ “Hey--” _

“No, no, she’s right,” Pansy tapped her finger to her chin, assessing Hermione’s figure. “This is the first  _ major  _ public event you’ll be next to  _ Draco Malfoy.  _ Thanks for telling me, by the way. Fuck you both.”

“I knew before you,” Ginny mocked in a sing-song voice, falling into a plush couch. 

“I draw the line at hexing a pregnant woman, red, but don’t provoke me. Now,” she came from around the counter and clasped her hands together in front of Hermione, “what are we thinking in terms of  _ color?”  _

Hermione ignored Ginny’s snort behind her and wrung her hands together. “Erm, I like… neutrals mostly. Greys, beiges. Nothing too flashy.” 

Pansy hid her pout, but nodded. “Glitter?”

“Absolutely not.” 

Pansy begrudgingly pulled every quote, unquote  _ plain  _ dress that she had in the store. One grey clashes with her skin, a taupe one was quite pretty but tight around the hips, Ginny even tried to sneak a bright blue dress into the mix which Hermione declined right away. The less attention she could draw to herself, the better. 

She had finally pulled on a dark cream, silk number that flowed completely straight from her shoulders down. It was a gorgeous dress; not form fitting, a flattering color, perfectly blend in-able. In any case, she felt quite  _ pretty.  _

While Pansy fused with the material, trying to convince Hermione to pull in the dress  _ here  _ or lift it  _ there,  _ the bell to the front door chimed. 

“Hello?”

Hermione turned to look over shoulder and almost tripped off the pedestal when she noticed, who else but,  _ Olivia.  _

“Ah, yes,” Pansy let go of Hermione’s dress which hung limply again, “Dress pick up for Johanson, correct?”

“Yes, thank-- Hermione Granger?”

Hermione bit back a groan, giving the girl a tight but  _ friendly  _ smile. Somewhat. “Hi, Olivia.”

“You two know each other?” Pansy quirked a brow. 

“Oh yes, Hermione is currently involved with Draco Malfoy. He and I work  _ very  _ closely at the Ministry together.”

_ Currently  _ involved.  _ Very  _ closely. Hermione thought about running her hands over the dress nervously, but was afraid the sweat on her palms would ruin the material. Ginny seemed to catch on first, offering Olivia her own smile. 

“That’s funny, he’s never mentioned you before.” 

Olivia blinked, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “And you are?”

“I’m your--”

“Ginny Weasley,” Hermione cut in quickly, afraid of the end of  _ that  _ sentence. “Don’t mind her. Pregnant brain and all, you know.”

Olivia’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ and she gave Ginny a sympathetic smile, as if finding out she was terminally ill instead of carrying a child. 

Pansy returned from the back, a long garment bag draped over her forearm. 

“Would you like to take a look?”

“Please.”

When Pansy unzipped the bag, Hermione felt something drop to the bottom of her stomach. It was gorgeous. Burnt orange with a dangerous slit up the side and a plunging neckline to match. Perfectly cinched around the waist with what looked like strings around the back to tie perfectly in place. It was something a goddess would wear. Something a future Malfoy bride would wear. 

“It’s  _ perfect,”  _ Olivia gushed, running her hands over the front. 

“It’s  _ something _ .” Hermione heard Ginny mumble, but either Olivia didn’t hear her or she was ignoring the side commentary.

“I was so worried when we spoke about the design,” Olivia was speaking to Pansy as she was being wrung up. “But it’s absolutely gorgeous. I was so worried about looking plain. I believe it’s  _ so  _ important to look just as good as your dancing partner, don’t you think?” 

Hermione sucked on her teeth, staring at herself in the mirror in front of her. Plain, plain, plain. Always plain. Always blending in. And it never mattered. It never  _ mattered  _ what she looked like or how she dressed. So why did it feel like a jab in the gut looking at herself now? 

Perhaps she was overthinking it. It’s not as if it  _ mattered  _ what she looked like now either. She was doing her duty as a friend. It didn’t matter what she wore, Malfoy would be looking at  _ her  _ anyway. 

“Granger.”

She hadn’t even noticed when Olivia left. Or when Pansy slid back next to her on the podium, who was now giving her a concerned look.

“Are you okay?”

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak around the lump in her throat. 

“Don’t mind that bint, Hermione,” Ginny cooed from her seat, wiggling to try and stand up. “It doesn’t-- Pansy, help me up-- It doesn’t matter what she says.  _ You  _ have Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione sucked on her cheek. She was wrong. She didn’t have Draco Malfoy. She never did, she never would. She was just plain Hermione Granger. 

“Granger--  _ fuck,  _ red, at least help me a little-- let me ask you something.”

Pansy finally helped lift Ginny out of her seat and they both took their spots at Hermione’s side. 

“Do you like this dress?”

Hermione paused. Then shook her head. No. No, she didn’t. She didn’t actually like her grey dress either. It was just…

“Do you wear what you want to wear? Or what you think you  _ should  _ wear?”

That was it. She  _ wanted  _ colorful.  _ Wanted  _ patterns and textures and flattering waistlines. But that’s not who Hermione Granger was, was it? She was the dependable one. She was the neutral, plain side character in life. She was the  _ friend.  _

“Hermione,” Pansy finally whispered from beside her, catching her eyes in the mirror. “Would you try something on for me?”

* * *

She  _ knew  _ Malfoy would be there before she even arrived home. It was like a telepathic connection she couldn’t sever. 

“You’re late.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, nudging him to the side to unlock her door. “I can’t be late to my own flat, Malfoy.” 

She stepped to the side to let him enter. “Well I knew you’d be with female Potter for the afternoon, but it’s nearly five. Where were you?”

Hermione groaned, the mere thought of her shopping trip and the dress that was now being tailored for her to wear in less than 24 hours, throwing her into a migraine fit. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ah. Shopping.”   
“How’d you know?” she shot him a disbelieving look, grabbing a bottle of wine and beginning to uncork it while he leaned casually against her fridge. 

“That’s your post shopping face. Like you’ve run a marathon or something. Your face gets all tight and bothered. Here.” 

He reached into her cabinet and grabbed a bottle of muggle aspirin, something he had a penchant for (especially the orange flavored, which Hermione had to warn him were  _ not  _ candy). He threw a few into her hand. 

“I suppose you just know everything about me, don’t you?”

She tossed back her head, popping the pills onto her tongue and washing it down with a sip of wine. 

Draco tutted. “You shouldn’t mix with alcohol.”

“I’ll live.” Hermione shrugged. 

“In any case, I don’t know  _ everything  _ about you,” he wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve only seen one pair of your knickers.”

Hermione blushed, turning her head away so he didn’t see it staining her cheeks. Of course he teased her before this, even flirted maybe. But it felt different now. Now that  _ she  _ felt different.

“Yes, well,” Hermione cleared her throat. “I suppose I must have  _ some  _ mystery.” 

They spent the remainder of the night on her sofa. She had changed into her night shirt and shorts, throwing her hair into a careful bun. If she had to fix even one curl tomorrow she’d be fucked. And she already had enough to worry about now. 

She reheated their leftovers (how funny  _ their  _ leftovers sounded) and thrown on a movie that had watched a hundred times already. He had pulled her bare legs over his lap, plucking at the sparse hairs she had missed when shaving until she finally kicked him. 

_ “Ouch,”  _ she hissed and he grabbed her foot when she reared back to kick him again. “You shouldn’t be touching them anyway, it’s rude.”

“Why are they there then?” he snickered, her feet still firmly in his grasp.

“Because I don’t care to get all the spots,” she tried to wiggle her feet out. “Sorry I’m not a proper  _ lady,  _ I’m sure you won’t have that issue with Olivia.” 

She tried and succeeded in keeping the bite out of her voice and he wrinkled his nose. “Where’s the fun in that? Think I could convince her to miss a patch or two?”

She finally got one foot free and kicked his shoulder lightly. He laughed, tucking it under his armpit. 

“I’m sure, Malfoy. Just tell her it’s a fetish of yours. Preferably before your first time together so she still has time to run.”

Draco hummed, seeming lost in thought. Hermione swallowed.

She licked her lips. “How will you tell her you… you know. That you want her.” 

His brows furrowed as he stared down at her bare calf. “I don’t know. I guess… I hadn’t thought that far.” 

“No?”

“Well,” he ran a thumb over her exposed fibula lightly. “I guess I have. I imagine I’d get her alone somehow. It would be at night, when there’s stars. Maybe I’d show her where my constellation is. And… And maybe I’d tell her that as much as my name means to me, it doesn’t matter more than her.” he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “That I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life because of my name, all that I regret. And that I hope she’ll see past that.”

Hermione stopped breathing, too enraptured by his long fingers slowly trailing up her leg. 

“I’d tell her that if she didn’t want to take my name, that I’d take hers. As long as she’d be mine. I’d give up my name for her.” his thumb dipped into the divet of her knee. “I’d tell her I don’t deserve her, but I’m so selfish I  _ have  _ to have her, even if she’s too good for me. Even if I don’t deserve her. Even if she thinks…”

He trailed off and Hermione realized her held breath had released and her chest was heaving. His fingertips rested just above her knee, pressing into the soft flesh of her thigh. He didn’t seem to notice, he was so utterly lost in his thoughts. 

He closed his eyes and shook his head suddenly, delicately pushing her legs from his lap and standing. 

“I should go.”

Hermione swallowed, trying to calm her racing heart, and whispered, “Okay.”

He began to pull on his jacket, his back turned to her. “Shall I pick you up tomorrow?”

“N-No. I’ll meet you there, if that’s alright with you.”

She saw the back of his head nod forward in agreement before he pulled her door open and disappeared with a soft  _ click.  _

She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart thrumming violently under her fingers. For some reason, it didn’t  _ feel  _ like he was talking about Olivia Johanson. 


	3. Chapter 3

She had been staring at the dress for precisely two hours now. The towel that once soaked in the moisture from her shower now hung dry around her. Her eyes flickered from _the_ dress to her grey one. 

Her safe, _plain_ grey dress. Her _dependable, predictable_ dress. But that’s not who she wanted to be today. She wanted to be spontaneous. Exciting. _New._

She shook her head, letting her hand run over the dress again. 

_“Draco will love it.”_ Pansy had told her when she finally talked Hermione into trying it on. 

And she knew he would. It _screamed_ Draco Malfoy. But would he like it on _her?_ And would it be enough to take his eyes off _Olivia?_

“Hermione!”

Ginny welcomed herself into Hermione’s room, stretchy pants over her belly and an old Quidditch shirt from Charlie; the only thing she enjoyed wearing this time in her pregnancy. 

“Gin? Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

Ginny snorted. “For _what?_ I’m not going to this thing, are you kidding? Knowing my luck I’d squeeze into a dress and have this kid on the floor of the atrium. No, I’m staying _home.”_

“Well, what are you doing _here?”_

Ginny eyed the grey dress as if it offended her. “I’m making sure _that_ doesn’t find its way to _another_ event.”

Hermione grumbled. “You’ve already missed the internal monologue. I’m wearing _the_ dress.”

“Fabulous. Next step is to burn _that_ one.”

“At least help me with my hair while you’re here?”

Ginny nodded, scooting onto the bed and pulling Hermione’s curls into her hands. 

“Are you nervous?” 

Yes. 

“No, it’s just another ball isn’t it?”

Ginny tugged and wrapped her hair around her wand, which was not searing hot. 

“Sure.” Then after a moment, “Are you excited?”

No. 

“Yes.”

“Good, good… Are you horny?”

_“Ginny!”_

Hermione shoved her friendly lightly, careful of her bump and they giggled together. It felt good for a moment, to just _laugh._ It reminded her of the Yule ball; putting on a dress she wanted to feel special in, Ginny forcing her hair into submission. 

“What? I’m too pregnant to get anything, I have to live vicariously through you.” 

“I--” Hermione sputtered, “We haven’t-- _ow Ginny!”_

The hot wand slipped and singed her ear as Ginny gasped. 

“Sorry, sorry! But _you haven’t?_ Not _once?”_

 _“No!_ And _shit,_ that hurt by the way.”

Ginny tutted. “You’re fine. But, I mean, _wow._ How are you both not spontaneously combusting? Between your arse and his--”

“Baby James, I am _begging_ you to come out so your mummy gets laid and leaves me alone.”

Ginny hummed in agreement, patting her belly. “Do you think you will tonight? I mean, how could he _resist_ in this dress, right?” 

“I--”

No, she didn’t. She didn’t expect to come home with him at all. He’d find Olivia on the dance floor, pull her to him, and that would be the end. 

“Maybe.” she smiled instead, though her throat tightened slightly as she said it. 

“There you are.” Ginny slid herself off the bed and Hermione stood, keeping the towel close to her chest. “Are you ready to get dressed?”

No.

“Yes.”

* * *

Malfoy was always early. Annoyingly early. And this was no exception. He was already in the atrium by the time she apparated in. He was chatting and laughing with Pansy, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Hermione paused, suddenly unsure if she should continue. 

Unsure if she wanted him to see her. 

But Pansy spotted her first, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping. Draco, eyebrows furrowed, followed her gaze to Hermione across the dance floor. 

She could barely breathe. He was like a dream: tall, broad, perfectly coiffed hair, a fucking _bowtie._ And he was looking at her. 

She smiled shyly, forcing her feet forward. Draco turned and handed Pansy his glass and began to meet her halfway. 

“Granger, you…” 

It wasn’t often Draco Malfoy was at a loss for words. He seemed to often have too _many_ words. And Hermione felt her spine straighten slightly. 

Ginny had fixed her hair to one side, pinning it there with a clip that she could see sparkle from between her curls. It did well to draw attention to her exposed back, the dip to the small of her back. The way it rounded around her backside. 

And the color. It wasn’t a neutral. Not safe beige or her signature grey, but _green._

 _“Not Slytherin green,”_ Pansy had assured her, but Hermione couldn’t tell the difference. 

It was daring and exciting and _new._

Draco cleared his throat, his fist rising to his mouth. “You look great. Wonderful. I… is this new?”

Hermione laughed, the tension spilling from her shoulders like a weighted blanket being pulled off. This was still Malfoy. _Her_ Malfoy. The flour-on-nose-fall-asleep-on-her-couch Malfoy. Even if she didn’t get to keep him after tonight, maybe that would be okay. As long as she had this. 

“It’s new, thanks to Pansy.”

“Yes, I’ll make sure to thank her,” he gave her a cheeky smile. “Do you… want to dance perhaps?”

Hermione nodded, licking her bottom lip nervously as he took her hand and guided her to the other dancing couples. 

Pansy was resting her head on the shoulder of an older gentleman Hermione didn’t recognize and she shot Hermione a pointed wink from behind Draco’s back and he pulled her to him. 

Hermione swallowed, feeling his hand rest at the small of her back; warm and calloused. He turned them slowly around the floor as they danced to the gentle music. She wanted to melt into this moment. Replay it again and again. Memorize it. Keep it. 

He pressed his cheek to her temple, his mouth falling to her ear. 

“Thanks again for doing this for me, Granger.”

Hermione swallowed, “Doing what?”

“Giving me a chance.”

He turned them again and from her peripheral view, she could see Olivia nearby. She flinched, knowing that if she were to look up, she’d see Draco looking over at her. Seeing how beautiful she looked in her dress. Feeling all he felt for her, with Hermione still in his arms. 

Unable to help herself, she peeked up through her eyelashes just to confirm it for herself. She gasped slightly when instead, she met his eye. He was looking at _her,_ his lips parted slightly and his eyelids hooded. 

It felt like a pause in time as the world seemed to move around them. But they stayed still, in that moment. A million memories floating around them. 

Her stroking his hair away from his face. 

He carrying her to his guest room. 

Hundreds of dinners. Movies. Books. Museums. 

All narrowing down into _this._ The realization. She could have him. She could keep him. 

The moment ended when the song ended. The couples around them parted to clap and they too detached themselves. 

“I’m-- I think I’ll get something to drink. Would you like something?”

He shook his head, looking every bit as frazzled as she felt. She made a beeline for the table lined with untouched champagne flutes and wine bottles. She downed one. Then another. Grabbed one more for good measure. 

“Take it easy, Granger,” Pansy snickered from behind her, causing Hermione to nearly jump out of her skin. “You know, as pissed as I am for you two to keep this from me… I’m really happy for you both. I can’t imagine anyone else who would deal with your shit better than each other.”

Hermione rose her glass, her head a little dizzy from the mix of alcohol and the moment she had just been pulled from. “Cheers.”

She began her decent to the dancefloor, sweeping it with her eyes to try and catch a glimpse of blonde hair. She finally did, smiling as she made her way through a maze of other guests to him. She stopped short, her glass sloshing slightly and spilling over the edge onto her fingers. 

Olivia was _there._ Her head tilted, her grin positively _predatory._ Like she was a vulture and he was a carcass left unattended. 

He was smiling back. Why was he smiling back? Her hand raised to touch his arm, sliding down to his forearm. Why wasn’t he pushing her away? 

She backed away slowly, her eyes blinking slowly as if hoping that it would wipe away the scene in front of her. Draco swiveled his head one way, then the other as if trying to spot something. She couldn’t move fast enough. He found her, his face splitting into a heartstopping smile before falling. His eye brows nearly touching. He looked down at where Olivia still had her hand. 

She couldn’t take it anymore. This was _stupid._ She was _stupid._ She had let herself be fooled, be convinced, that this was more than what it was. 

She moved through the crowd again, pushing shoulders as she passed. 

“Watch out, Granger-- Granger?” she heard Pansy’s voice as she passed, bumping into her and nearly knocking her over. 

She didn’t stop to apologize. Didn’t have the _breath._ She picked up the bottom of her dress and picked up her pace, finding herself in the same patch she had apparated to. Closing her eyes, she let herself imagine her flat. 

Plain, dependable. Just like her. Brown, worn furniture. Empty. Alone. She opened her eyes, prepared to apparate away. 

Malfoy shoved himself through the last bit of crowd, _“Granger--”_

But she was already gone. 

* * *

She closed her floo. Locked her apparating wards. Not just to keep _him_ out, but to keep everyone out. 

Ginny would have heard from Pansy. They both would be trying to force themselves through to her, to make sure she was alright. 

And she _was._ Really, she was. After ripping off her dress, tossing it into a corner to be forgotten, eating every single thing in her fridge _and_ pantry; she was comfortably numb. 

This year, Valentine’s Day fell the day _after_ the ball. She wondered how Malfoy was celebrating. He had a reservation to a fancy restaurant, no doubt. Maybe he’d bring Olivia to the manor garden, it would be hers one day anyway. 

It _hurt._ Pushed through the numbness to squeeze her heart and steal her breath from her. How could she ever show her face again?

A knock pounded at the door, startling Hermione so much she dropped her mug which shattered on the floor. 

“Great,” she mumbled and then paused as the knocking grew more urgent. 

“Granger! Granger, open this door!”

She felt sick. It was awful hearing his voice. 

She stepped over the pile of shattered clay carefully, approaching the door cautiously. 

“I’m not accepting visitors today, Malfoy.” 

“Like bloody _fuck_ you are, Granger, let me _in!”_ he pounded again, her door shaking on its hinges. 

“You’re going to break my door, Malfoy!”

“I _will_ if you don’t let me in this instant.”

She swung the door open, his fist raised to knock again. He pushed past her, knowing she would only shut the door in his face again if he stayed outside. 

“You can’t just _lock your floo,_ Granger! Are you _daft?_ And your _apparition_ wards? What if something had happened to you and you couldn’t get out? Or we couldn’t get in to help you?” 

He ran his hands through his hair. Hermione noticed the leftover gel from the night before. The dark circles under his eyes. The loose fitting shirt, unbuttoned at the top. Had he even slept? 

She pushed past the terrible guilt she felt. “I just wanted to be alone.” 

“From _me,”_ he pressed his hands to his chest. “You _never_ want to be alone from _me._ Fuck, I tried for _hours_ to get in--”

“How did you even get here?”

“I _walked,”_ he growled, a hand fisting his hair. “To the nearest public apparation point. Which is _five fucking_ miles away, thanks so much for living in the middle of _fucking nowhere_ by the way. It’s _February,_ Granger! I can barely feel my fucking _balls--”_

“I didn’t _ask_ for you to come after me, Malfoy,” she shot back, folding her arms over her chest protectively. “In fact, I thought I made it perfectly clear I _didn’t_ want you here by _closing my wards!”_

Draco reared back as if he’d been slapped. “I…”

Hermione’s shoulder slumped forward. 

“Please, just go,” she whispered. 

Draco shook his head. “I don’t understand. I don’t _understand._ One minute everything is great, _we’re_ great. And then you’re running from me.”

“Because my job was done, Malfoy! Did you want me to stay around to watch you _fuck her?”_

Draco paused. Blinked. Blinked again. Then he _laughed._ Almost a howl, folding over to clutch his stomach. She felt hers fall to the ground. 

“Right.” she began to walk away. To lock herself in her room until he would finally leave her in peace. 

But a hand shot out to grab her elbow gently. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he wiped a stray tear from his eyes. She felt hers pooling, blinking to keep them away. “I know it’s… terribly inappropriate to laugh. I just… _Granger.”_

_“What?”_

She turned, ready to smack him or shove him away or _anything_ to release the pain he was continuing to force upon her. Two hands came up to grab her face, pulling her forward until their lips met in a messy tangle of teeth and tongue. 

He pulled away gently, keeping his hands over her cheeks and his thumbs swiping across her temple. 

Hermione shook her head in his grasp. “I’m so… confused.” 

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead and let his hands drop to her jaw, cradling her neck. 

“Granger, you silly witch, I wasn’t trying to make her jealous. I was trying to make _you_ jealous by making _her_ jealous!”

She felt her head shake again. Had she even stopped shaking her head since the kiss?

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it doesn’t. But I tried _everything_ else that did. I took you everywhere. I’m practically attached to your side every second. I make excuses to come to your office during work because I can’t go that long without seeing you. And none of that, _none of it,_ would get it through your thick skull.”  
“What?” 

“That I’m _in love with you,_ you idiot,” he let go of her face, gesturing wildly. “I-I know it was insane! It was the only thing I had left! _Years,_ Granger, waiting for you to figure it out. And last night, I thought it _worked._ I was… I was going to take you home. To _my_ home. Rip that fucking dress from you. I was going to give you that bloody first edition Hogwarts: a History book you salivate after as a Valentine’s gift. And then you just _left!”_

Hermione’s jaw was practically on the floor. “You… You were going to give me Hogwarts: a History?” 

Draco laughed, a defeated laugh that made his shoulders slump forward. “ _Yes,”_ he moved forward, taking her face in his hands again. “For a long time I thought _that_ was the reason you were hanging around. You wanted that book so damn bad… And I was worried if I gave it to you, you’d have no reason for me anymore. I was going to give it to you, finally, when I knew you wouldn’t leave. And I know that’s so _selfish--”_

She lunged forward, groaning against his lips as they fumbled together. “ _So_ selfish. So _stupid.”_

He plunged a hand into her hair, grasping at the curls by her scalp and tugging until she hissed. “Granger,” he forced her head back, latching onto the sensitive skin of her throat. “As much as my name means to me, it doesn’t matter more than you.”

He bit and sucked and soothed her neck with long licks. She moaned. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life because of my name, all that I regret. And I hope you can see past that.”

His free hand dipped into her shirt, splaying across her bare stomach and grazing the underside of her breast with his thumb. “If you don’t want to take my name, I’ll take yours. As long as you’re mine.”

Hermione panted, her heart hammering and her cunt aching as he ran his thumb over one taunt nipple. 

“I don’t deserve you,” He gripped the bottom of her shirt, slowly tugging it over her head. “But I’m so _selfish.”_

He fell to his knees, kissing a line from her navel to the top of her shorts, nuzzling her with his nose. “I _have to_ have you.”

His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her bottoms, tugging them down her legs, over her knees, helping her step out of them. 

“Even if you’re too good for me.”

He parted her legs, throwing her leg over his shoulder. Hermione cried out as he blew hot air against her throbbing clit. “Even if I don’t deserve you.”

“ _Please,”_ she cried up, rotating her hips in desperation to find his mouth. 

“Even if you think you’re too plain.”

He dove forward, his tongue licking a wide stripe across her clit. She fisted his hair in her hands. His mouth was seeking, exploring, _claiming_ her. 

“I-I-- _God--_ I can’t… can’t…”

Her knees buckled, the pleasure frying her nerves and thrusting her forward into his arms. He detached his mouth from her cunt, folding her into his arms and carrying her down the hallway. She whimpered, every nerve in her body pulsing and on edge. Needing more of this, more of _him._

She felt the bed under her, felt him crawl over her and situate himself between her legs. She began to pull at his clothes savagely, needing to feel more of him. Needing his skin bare on hers. 

“Fucking _buttons--”_ she huffed, and he laughed, ripping it from his shoulders and tossing it to the floor. 

“You have quite the mouth on you, Granger.” 

She reached between them, finding and palming his hard cock beneath his trousers. He hissed, his hips thrusting into her hand. 

“You don’t know the half of it, _Malfoy,”_ she purred, letting her nails drag over the wet spot she knew covered his weeping tip. 

He growled, ripped her hand from his slacks and held it by the wrist to her pillow. “Don’t tease me, _witch._ You’re forgetting it’s been _years,_ my patience is _thin.”_

“You talk a lot for someone who’s trying to get laid.”

She thrust her hips forward, grinding her bare cunt against the outline of his cock. Her eyes rolled back at the friction while he swore violently, sitting up on his knees to unbutton his slacks and push his slacks and briefs down his waist, his cock springing free from its confines. Hermione’s eyes widened and Draco snickered. 

“I trust you’re impressed,” he fisted himself, pumping languidly. 

“Yes, well,” she reached up her arms, tangling her hands in his already mused hair and tugging him down gently until he was over her again. “Let’s see what you can do with it?”

He moaned, shuttering as he ran his cock through the lips of her slick folds. “My pleasure.”

He thrust forward, impaling himself inside her. She thought she might have screamed then, but her ears were ringing much too loudly to process any other noise. 

She was already near the edge, her toes curling and the muscles in her thigh jumping. She gasped, moaned, dragged her nails across the muscles of his back as they flexed. 

He latched onto her chest, sucking a bruise into the thin flesh and then turning his head to take a nipple between his teeth. 

She cried out, her hips jumping. One of his hands came between them, holding her down onto the bed while he continued rutting into her. It wasn’t _enough._ He was dragging his cock out slowly, every ridge sliding against her nerves before thrusting back in brutally. It wasn’t _enough._ She needed… she needed…

 _“More,”_ she cried out, digging her nails into the fleshy part of his shoulder. He hissed, biting down on her nipple in response. “Please. _Please--”_

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he lifted his head from her chest, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. His pace never faltered and she cried out each time his cock dragged out, her muscles contracting to keep him in place. “I always knew you would be. But I’ll give you what you want--”

 _“Yes!”_ she sobbed, “Want-- want--”

He gave a particularly forceful thrust that made her yelp. “All you need to do is say I can have you.”

“Y-You-- _ah!--_ you have me! You have me!”

“Who has you?” he cooed, one hand curling around the back of her thigh and hiking her leg to his hip. 

She screamed, the new angle pressing into the fleshy spot in her inner muscles that made her see stars. 

“ _Draco--”_

His pace exploded then, the force so brutal she had to reach up and grasp her headboard to keep herself from being pounded into it. 

“Oh my _god--”_

“That’s right,” his hot breath puffed against her ear. “Gonna fuck you like you deserve-- _mine_ now--”

She screeched, her whole body tightening, pulsing as she finally toppled over the edge. He grunted, clenching his eyes shut and letting her ride out the wave with his cock buried inside her. 

He resumed, only a few more thrusts before he growled and she felt his cock pulse inside of her, a sudden warmth rushing through her center. 

He fell limp, moving to her side to not crush her, and pulled her to his chest. They both laid in silence, their shared pants the only noise between them. Her muscles still twitching from the aftermath of her release. 

Draco buried his nose into the top of her head, pressing his cheek against her curls. And suddenly, Hermione laughed. He pulled back, giving her a scandalized look. 

“I can assure you nothing about that was _funny,_ Granger.”

“No, I just--” she burst into a fit of giggles again, pressing her nose into his chest as she snorted. 

“What?”

“Would you _really_ change your name to Draco Granger?”

He huffed, turning over onto his back and pulling her with him. She tucked herself into his side, his hands trailing lazily up her spine. 

“Begrudgingly. But if you asked me… yes. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give up for you.” 

They fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms, a pile of green fabric forgotten in the corner: its job done. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find bookloverdream: Tumblr  
> You can find dirtymudblood: Tumblr


End file.
